


The Art of Aioli (and of turning your brain off)

by ourladyofmanycats



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Best Friends, Cooking, Curtain Fic, F/M, Flash Fic, Gen, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, POV Jemma Simmons, The mom friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 22:30:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10054406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourladyofmanycats/pseuds/ourladyofmanycats
Summary: Jemma tries, mostly, to keep her brain on one thing at a time in the midst of a crisis. She bargains one thing for another and knows that she can only fulfill some tasks while under specific circumstances.Set after 4.15 (Self Control) and outside of the framework once some time has passed.





	

Her mind is never moving slower than a thousand miles a minute. In the lab, it is this that has kept her, kept Daisy, kept almost every member of the team consecutively, alive. 

_\--The acceleration of freefall is 9.8 newton meters per second squared--_

And though she is encouraged to break, to take time for herself, she is only ever wondering and planning for what next will happen. When the time comes, she must be certain that she can do whatever it is that needs to be done. This isn’t just the worry of a friend. It is too the worry of the doctor and the woman with so many advanced degrees that professors quake in her wake. She knows her worth. So too must she know how to apply it.

When Jemma is cutting through Daisy’s flesh to retrieve a bullet, she can feel nothing. 

When Jemma is cooking for Fitz, she notices each slice of her blade. She notes the feeling of the flesh of peppers and onions, feels the reverberance of their weight in her hands. 

_\--Obsidian blades are so sharp that they slice between atoms instead of ripping them apart--_

She can feels the brush of olive oil as she coats the vegetables. She supposes that this is what the love is, when people write hastily at the bottom of their recipes to add love into the cooking.

_\--basil leaves, parmesan cheese, pine nuts, lemons juice, egg yolk--_

There are after thoughts, something that she has almost consistently avoided at work and during chores. As an afterthought, when the mixture of stuffing is sitting in its glass bowl, and the wooden cutting board is empty of the scraps of onion skin and leftover pepper seeds, she thinks of adding dill and parsley. Fitz will like that. She stays busy until the peppers have cooked long enough. 

_\--I’m like a rubber band until you pull too hard--_

She slices the bread once it has come out of the oven, and on the top, she scrapes across the flaky pockets of air, adding just the slightest hint of her pesto aioli. 

“That smells fantastic,” Daisy says as she walks into the kitchen in the tiny apartment that the survivors have turned into a base. “Stuffed peppers?”

“And bread. Call Piper and the other agents, will you? Dinner’s ready and we’re going to need to eat well if we’re going back into the framework in the morning.”


End file.
